"I don't know if that's true," Griffen said. "I'd bet there's a higher percentage here, but I don't know. I haven't had that much experience living in many other places, and none before I knew about . . . you know. I know I would rather live here than anywhere else, and I'm a dragon."
"This is the best place to be," Harrison said. "It's worth protecting. Even with all of you in it."
Griffen held up a finger. "Wait a minute, Detective. It's not in spite of people like me. We're part of this city and this country, too. I may be new down here, but lots of others have been here as long as any human beings. They love this city. I love it. We're not interfering. We're part of the landscape."
Harrison chewed over the notion. Griffen could tell he found this tough to accept, but he swallowed it as he did the fish. "My granny had one of those scrolls that hung from a nail in her parlor that was called 'Desiderata.' She always told me it was a waste of energy to rail against what can't be helped. But is there some kind of secret password so I can tell what I'm dealing with?"
"No more than if you ran into a smuggler, an illegal alien, or a millionaire," Griffen said. "I can feel them, but that's a new skill I'm just picking up. Some humans have it, too. I used to call it the sixth sense, but it's more than that. And there are a lot of people with just a little blood from one of the groups. Plenty of them don't know they have it, like me and Val."
"You mean there's half vampires out there? Half swamp creatures?"
Griffen grinned at the mental picture of a half-flora, half-fauna baby in diapers in a crib shaking a catalpa-pod rattle. "Maybe. Some types can't interbreed. Some of them can have sex with other beings but can't have children with them. We don't all know about each other. I got thrown into this only a few months ago. I'm learning it just ahead of you."
Harrison had plenty of other questions. Griffen was impressed, as always, by the detective's shrewd intelligence. Griffen found himself telling him about the conclave, who had what kind of powers, who got along with whom, and whether they lived in New Orleans or not.
"Now here's a special just for you from the dessert chef," Edwin announced. Griffen got off his elbows and made room for the dessert, a tower of pastry with caramel sauce and a chocolate cutout for each of them.
Both men dove into the confection with spoons. It tasted of vanilla, with a hint of coffee and chili. Harrison deconstructed it as he might a case and cut into each piece, dipping it in the creme anglaise in the center. Griffen felt his waistband tightening with every bite. He was going to have a stomachache later, but he couldn't stop eating. The chef had his own magic.
"That one who died, Slim? What was he? A shape-changer?"
"No. He had power over animals. They loved him."
"Then why was he posing as a statue for tips in Jackson Square? Seems like a waste. Could have been world-famous with an animal act. A real Doctor Dolittle."
Griffen shook his head. "Because he respected the animals as you would respect other people," Griffen said. "He wouldn't exploit them any more than you'd line up a bunch of humans and make them dance to earn a profit for you. He was very responsible with his power. I didn't understand that at first. The animal-control talents are very touchy, and they have reason to be. I want to save you the trouble of making the same mistake I did."
"Point taken," Harrison said. "Just seems like a lot of people would use a talent like that to make money."
"They would. Slim didn't like it. He did his best to protect animals from others. Like me." Admitting that reopened an old wound. "I made a lot of the same assumptions you did. He taught me better. I wish . . . I wish it had gone differently."
"You and me both," Harrison said, polishing off the last bite of pastry. "Well, if you are all such good citizens, then I need help. Did any of them see what happened to Jesse Lee? Anyone who has leads on open cases can let me know. I don't care where the information comes from."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"That's damned right, I don't," Harrison said. "But I have confidential informants you wouldn't meet in broad daylight with an army at your back. How much worse could your kind be?"
Griffen winced. "Don't even ask. But I'll put it out there. I got to know some people during the conclave who consider themselves good citizens."
"And some who don't?"
"Not as much as they don't consider themselves to be part of civilization if they can help it. We're all ruining their environment for them."
"Everybody's a rampant greenie these days," Harrison growled.
"Some literally," Griffen said. "At the conclave . . ."
"How was the food?" the waiter asked.
"Five stars," Harrison said. "Mr. McCandles here wasn't giving me BS when he said this was the best place. The tournedos de boeuf were perfect, red inside but done exactly to temperature. The panko crust suited the flounder. Don't need more seasoning than a little thyme and a sprinkle of salt. Your chef got that on the nose. Dill would have overpowered that and the beef."
"Yes, sir. He knows his fish. I saw that you appreciated our turtle soup."
"Flaming the sherry was an inspiration. Added a little smoky, aged flavor that just gave it another dimension. I have got to try that myself. Don't get a chance to really do any fancy cooking on my schedule, but I get a vacation once a year. Does he saute the meat before he simmers it, or does he start with raw?"
"You better not overcook turtle, Detective," Edwin said, warningly. The two of them dropped into incomprehensible jargon including such terms as "the Maillard effect" and "sous vide." Griffen was slack-jawed.
"I get the Food Network," Harrison said, defensively. "You can't live in this city and not become a food fan."
"Damm it, take the card!" A too-loud voice interrupted the restaurant review. All of them turned. A red-faced man in a light brown suit glared up at a waiter. Griffen could see from where he sat that the man's eyes were red, too. In fact, he looked a lot like the steak Griffen had just eaten. "It's fine! Run it again!"
"Sir," the waiter said, dropping his voice and leaning close, "I am very sorry, but it was declined."
"Declined, hell! You're just running it wrong! Do it again!"
"We did, sir. Would you happen to have some other means of settling your bill?"
The belligerent expression on the man's face told Griffen he was between tipsy and drunk. "That's the way I'm paying. Now, run the slip, because I am walking out of here in exactly sixty seconds whether you do or not."
"Sir, that won't do. They won't pay."
"Tough shit. What are you gonna do? You gonna call the cops?"
"No, I'm already here," Harrison said, striding to the man's side. The diner jumped. Harrison put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into his chair. Griffen followed along just to see the show. "I was just having a nice dinner, and I heard the commotion. I'm not gonna bust you up in here. Place is too nice for that, and it would just embarrass the hosts you were trying to stiff."
"The card's good!" the man protested.
"Instead of blaming the staff, you tried calling the credit-card company? Gimme your cell phone," he said to Griffen. Griffen immediately surrendered it. Harrison dialed the number on the back of the card and thrust it at the man. "Ask 'em."
The man recited his number into the receiver and waited. "What do you mean I'm over my limit? I had three thousand dollars credit before we left . . ."
Harrison took the phone. "Who'm I talking to? Well, ma'am, I'm Detective Harrison of the New Orleans Police Department. Yes, ma'am, good evening. No, I know you can't tell me anything about his account. But how about you tell Mr."--he glanced at the card--"Tadeuz if there was any big purchase recently? Uh-huh. You have a nice night." He handed the phone to the embarrassed tourist, who listened closely.
"The car rental," he told his scarlet-faced wife. "We declined the insurance, so they took a deposit on our credit card. But that's not fair!"
"You signed the agreement," Harrison said, his voice low and just
on the soft side of threatening. "So maybe you remember that you have enough money in your wallet to pay cash. Otherwise, there're crimes known as theft of service, theft by deception, and a bunch of other charges that I could read out. I am sure you would rather pay your money for this excellent food and wine than for bail money." The guy was slightly drunk but not insensible. He got the point. His face was scarlet as he opened his wallet and counted cash out into the small black tray on the table.
"And the tip," Harrison said. "These people treated you really nice. Don't take it out on them."
Very grudgingly, the man put another bill on top of the others.
The man's wife, a nice-looking woman with gray, curly hair, lifted beseeching eyes to him. She was genuinely upset. "Really, Officer . . ."
"Detective," Harrison said.
". . . Detective, we'll see what happened. It wasn't deliberate. We have a high credit limit. Really!"
"It's okay, ma'am," Harrison said. "You enjoy the rest of your night, now." The couple gathered their belongings and rushed out of the restaurant. Behind Harrison, the family at the next table mimed applause. Griffen grinned. They went back to their table.
Edwin followed them and helped them be seated. "Well, Detective, we are very grateful for your help. We'd like to--"
"Now, don't you say another damned word!" Harrison snarled. Edwin halted, eyes wary. "I do not want to hear another word about it. I am just doing my job. No freebies." Griffen pushed down on the air with his flattened hand just behind the detective's back.
The waiter subsided. "Well, I will just go and make sure the coffee is as good as it can be." He bustled away.
Harrison's pager buzzed. He looked down just as Edwin brought a cafe presse to the table.
"Shit. I almost made it to the coffee," he said.
"We'll put it in a go-cup for you, Detective. I hope you enjoyed your meal."
"Sure did," Harrison said. He pointed a finger at Griffen's chest. "Don't think this takes you off the hook, McCandles."
"No, Detective, sir," Griffen said. Harrison hung around long enough for Edwin to pour his coffee into an insulated container. "And I want to make sure you're gonna pay for this meal."
"I know," Griffen said, reaching for his wallet. "Theft of service, theft by deception, and whatever else you can think of."
"Damned straight," Harrison said. "I'll use whatever tools are in my toolbox on you if I have to. Whatever makes it work down here so that life goes as peacefully as it is going to go."
He took his coffee and went out into the night. Griffen felt his shoulders relax as soon as the detective was out of sight. That hadn't gone as badly as it could have. They weren't exactly friends again yet, but they were allies. Harrison felt more in control than he had before. Griffen didn't mind letting him think he was on top of that hierarchy. It worked better for both of them.
Fourteen
Valerie looked back over her shoulder onto the street. Two men had stopped, one lighting the other's cigarette, just out of the light of the vintage streetlight. "They're still there."
"If you want, I will take them out," Gris-gris said, guiding her by the elbow to one of the naugahyde-covered booths. "It would be my pleasure. I just want you to relax and have a good time. You took a weekend night off just for me. I want you to be happy."
Val almost said yes. She kind of liked having a boyfriend who was willing to kill two people just because they were bothering her.
She hadn't really thought she liked the bad boys, but the mild men she picked up she often forgot a week later. The dangerous aspects of Gris-gris really turned her on. Griffen carried a knife in his pocket, but Gris-gris had actually used his. The boys she had dated at college would probably pass out if you showed them one. That was one reason why she continued to see him when there was so much variety in the Quarter.
"No," she said. "Unless they come in here. As long as they keep their distance, I'll be okay."
"Whatever you say. Hey, Clarissa!" he shouted. "You got some service coming out here?"
"You shut up, Gris-gris!" Clarissa shouted back. She was pouring coffee for a man at the counter.
"You want me to come and mess you up over there? My lady wants some service!"
"Hey, Val, honey," Clarissa called over. "That man bothering you?"
"No," Val said, grinning at him. "Not yet. Unless I get lucky."
She glanced out the window. The men had stopped on the other side of the street. They stood smoking and talking, but she knew, she could feel, that they were watching her out of the corner of their eyes. Her temper flared. The room suddenly seemed too small, as if her world was constricting.
A light touch brushed her hand. "Hey, sweet thing, keep it down. They only used to seeing one size of you in here, okay?"
Val looked at him in shock. She glanced at their hands. Hers were bigger than his. She had grown without thinking about it. She shot a hasty glance at the other people in the diner. "Did anyone see?"
"Maybe the two guys outside, but I think they already know. Right?"
Val concentrated hard on returning to her normal size. Damm it. She thought that she had gotten that reaction under control! It was the tension from worrying about Melinda jumping out and surprising her that was throwing her off. She had to get herself together.
The men outside had not been sent by Melinda but by Griffen. She was perturbed by his overprotectiveness even though she understood it. It was sweet. She knew it meant he cared; but they went everywhere she did, even when she went out running in the mornings. She hated the idea of being under surveillance. Even more, she hated the reason she had to be under surveillance. Mai insisted that Melinda was a fearsome opponent and would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. Well, if she wanted Val's baby, she was going to be disappointed.
She found herself getting angry all over again, but she controlled herself before she started Hulk-ing out all over again.
"Sorry, I'm not being fair to you," Val said to Gris-gris. "Thanks for asking me out this evening."
"We haven't really had any time alone lately," he said.
Val glanced out at the loitering men. "And we don't exactly now."
"Well, I hope they ain't gonna be following us everywhere." He looked her up and down with interest. Val felt her own response growing. Her body was changing, but not enough to interfere with lovemaking.
"They'd better not," she said, huskily. "I owe you my undivided attention for a while."
"And why is that?" he asked, studying her. She liked the incredible dark brown of his eyes. When he looked at her, they seemed to absorb her gaze so she couldn't break away.
"Well, all the nice things that you say and do for me."
He looked pleased. "You're a special lady. I'd do it just because you're you. But your family has treated me right, also. That means something to me."
Val looked into those deep eyes. She didn't want to fall in love with him. She was too young. They really didn't know each other well. She liked spending time with him. He let her take the lead on their lovemaking. That meant something to her. So little of her life before New Orleans had been in her control. Her uncle had chosen where they went to school, enrolled her in the college of his choice, even given her a clothing allowance in store credits so she had to shop where he chose. Gris-gris gave her freedom to act. Whether or not they had any kind of future together was something she didn't want to overanticipate. What happened, happened. She tore herself away from his gaze and gave him a sardonic smile.
"Did I tell you about Griffen's meeting with his krewe?"
"Yeah. Are you going to be a queen?"
"No," Val said, peeved at the memory. "And I am not buying Griffen's explanation that the krewe has chosen a queen and wouldn't tell him her name. I think he's just putting off having to choose one of us because he knows the other two are going to be mad at him. Still, being a maid sounds like fun. You'll come to the parties with me, too, won't you?"
"That's all out of my leag
ue, mostly," Gris-gris said, honestly. "Society people, rich people, educated people."
"But do any of those matter? I want you there."
He nodded. "Then I will be there, pretty lady."
Val hesitated. The subject of finance was a delicate one. She had no idea what Griffen was paying him as a runner and spotter. "We'll have to buy tickets. I think they'll actually cost a few hundred dollars. If it's too outrageous, I'll understand."
Gris-gris waved away the trouble. "I can afford that. It's my once-in-a-lifetime chance to escort a maid of Mardi Gras to the ball. I have to find me a suit, too. Can't go there in what I own."
"Oh! I have to find a dress," Val realized with a shock. "I'm so used to wearing casual clothes wherever I go around here. I don't think I have anything even remotely suitable."
"Plenty of places to find a gown," Gris-gris assured her. "You could even have one made. I've got an aunt who would love to dress you up."
"A tailor?" Val was delighted and momentarily distracted at the thought of having a dress made to order. "I've never had anything made for me."
"Yeah, but we do all the time," Gris-gris pointed out. "It's a lot cheaper than buying fancy clothes. There's probably as many tailors and dressmakers down here as there are in New York because of Mardi Gras and Halloween."
"I never thought of that, but yeah. I can see that. Michael Kors probably doesn't do a lot of parade costumes."
Gris-gris laughed. "Designer-line masquerade? That'd be something else."
Val was suddenly ravenous. "I need something to eat right now," she said. "Sorry. I could blame it on you-know-who"--she glanced down--"but it's just me. I forgot to eat lunch."
"Clarissa!" Gris-gris cried, without breaking eye contact with her. "You'd better feed my honey soon, or we'll go someplace that knows how to cook real food!"
"You think you know what it tastes like?" Clarissa asked skeptically. "Ain't been that long since you actually started paying for your meals."
"Look, mama, I am going to get beat up here if you don't deliver!"
Dragons deal gm-3 Page 12
